“Just about a’body that lives around here has a story. I’m no different.”
This is wonderful—exactly what I need. I’ll immerse myself in the stories of the locals and get a feel for who my character is.
“Would you mind telling me about it?” I gesture to the other chair at the table.
Margie glances around the almost empty pub. There are a couple of older gentlemen sitting at the bar, and a younger woman by the fire, knitting. “Sure, for a minute.” She sets down the kettle and sits with a sigh. “When I was a lassie, I went out fishing with my father. It was a morning like this one, where the fog mixes with the top of the water and you can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.”
I lean in, imagining myself in a boat slicing through the mist. Margie goes on to tell me about a creature rocking the boat as it glided by at a speed she’d never seen from an animal or ship before. They could only just make out a silhouette as it passed underneath them in the water, but the shadow stretched on and on. It had to be four times the size of their rowboat. They paddled as fast as their arms would allow to shore and never spoke of it to each other again.
“Wow.”
“Aye.”
“Did you ever see it again?”
Margie laughs, and it’s so melodious I nearly join her, even though I don’t understand the joke. “Child, I never went back on that loch again. The size of that beast…” Margie shakes her head and goes back to refilling cups.
The Scottish countrysideblurs by out the window in every hue of green you can imagine. I boarded the first bus that came. Pulling out my notebook, I make some notes about Margie’s story. Imagine living next to this beautiful body of water your whole life and never going in it, not even dipping a toe in. Her fear must be immense.
The bus stops, and the driver calls out, “Last stop.”
Shit. I’m back in Inverness. I was hoping to go somewhere new, maybe a bit more rural. I check my phone to see if there’s another bus or a train I can catch. There’s one in about an hour. I wander around,find some coffee, take five pictures with five different fans, then buy myself a purple baseball cap with a thistle stitched on it. It’s not my best disguise, but I didn’t see any fake mustaches, so it’ll have to do. I can imagine what Skye would say about my hat, or more, the eye roll she’d give me.
The bus finally comes. It’s warm, clean, and not too crowded. Perfect. Sipping my coffee, I gaze out the window at Loch Ness as we ride along. I start to replay the conversation I had with Skye in the car until I realize what I’m doing. I need to put her out of my mind. This is a research trip. I need to be present. Dark clouds have rolled in, and they are perfectly reflected in the glassy surface of the water. I watch closely for any hint of movement.
After almost an hour, we arrive at Urquhart Castle. The wind is bitter against my face as I make my way there. The man I buy a ticket from informs me I have the place to myself on account of the storm coming. “Best be quick, lad.”
I nod and give my thanks. The wind blows harder, and fat raindrops fall, one after another, picking up speed. I zip my rain jacket, shove my hands in the pockets, and stroll around the ruins. And I thought Castle Loch Ness was in bad shape. Compared to this place, it’s brand-new. The stone here is a similar shade of pinky tan. One whole wall of the largest part of the castle is missing. I climb the stairs and look over the railing out at Loch, the stone rubble beneath my feet. The water is full of ripples now, with the wind in full force and the rain splattering onto the surface. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, the smell of the wet rock, moss, and something I don’t have a word for—earth, maybe. If my character lived here, he would fix this wall stone by stone.
This film is going to be amazing. I open my eyes and take in the lush green hills dotted with trees, the leaves just starting to turn golden. It’s a refreshing change from palm trees. I fish my phone out of my pocket to take a picture. My brother is always sending me pics from different locations. Always jetting off for his latest period drama or another Bond-like spy thriller, while I’m usually working out formy next sports movie or Marvel knock-off. It’ll be fun to send him a location pic back. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve left the US for one of my movies.
This film is exactly what I need, my ticket out of second-rate superhero movies. The director is fresh. She’s only done a few independent films so far, but all got rave reviews from the critics. This is her first film with a real budget, and there’s already a buzz around it. I could be up for an Oscar if I can focus.I’m nearly thirty. It’s the perfect time to pivot to more serious roles.
With the past few movies, I didn’t give my best performance. But it was the uninspiring script, the low-budget costumes, the taxing shoot schedules. Sometimes I wonder if acting hadn’t fallen into my lap as a kid, if it’s something I would’ve chosen for myself. Maybe I would’ve been a carpenter, done something with my hands. It’s silly to think about, really. How many people would kill to be in my shoes? I’ve just had a run of bad luck with the movies I’ve been in recently.Love and the Loch Ness Monsteris going to be different.
As I snap the picture, a rumble of thunder vibrates my chest, and a few seconds later, a flash of lightning streaks across the sky—time to go. I try to text it to my brother, but my phone dies.
Trampingthrough the rain over half an hour later, I find a white stone inn nearby that thankfully has a room available and a bar attached to it. The room is simple, all I need really, and it has a standing shower. After I plug my phone in and shrug off all my wet clothes, I spend far too long under the water spray.
Once I’m dried off and dressed in the fresh clothes from my backpack, I grab my phone to head out the door, but I see I missed a text from Elsie.
Elsie: Did you get the new pages?
New pages of the script? I’d already memorized half the old pages.
I start punching in different replies, erasing each one. Finally, I just decide to call her.
It rings three times before I hear a very bleary-sounding Elsie on the other line. “Miles, why the hell are you calling me at eleven o’clock at night?”
Shit. The time difference. I didn’t even think about it. What time must it have been when I called Jake yesterday? I mentally try to do the math when I realize it doesn’t matter. I can’t go back and un-call him, and he had clearly been awake enough to answer and force me to work out. “Sorry. I’m in Scotland. I just completely spaced the time difference.”
“You’re in Scotland already?” Elsie sounds more awake. “Where?”
“Um, around where we’re going to be filming. What’s with the new pages?”
“You haven’t read them yet?”
“No, not yet. Is it just minor changes?”
